Outsider - Poem by Celeste Morse
The problem is so easy,
Yet the answer so hard.
No matter how quiet the whipser,
The words are never heard;
Yet no matter how loud I scream,
The meaning is never heard.
The world is just a garden;
Beautiful and unique -
I'm the weed, so common and unwanted.
No matter how I grow,
I'll always be small;
Uprooted and pushed aside.
Perhaps if I should cease to exist
I should cease to be a nuisance -
So common, so unwanted,
Oh! so small!
Waiting for the one
Whom picks me out -
For in the eyes of a child,
I am but a pretty flower.
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